Free At Last
by None Of It Matters
Summary: On his way back to the Southern Isles, the prince gets his freedom, but it isn't at all what he was expecting. One-shot.


If it weren't for the light shining into his cell, Prince Hans would have not been able to tell whether it was morning or night. As it was, he had lost track of how many days had went by since his imprisonment on the ship. For all he knew months could have passed.

Hans grasped the bars of his small jail cell and peered through them. With the overcast skies as their backdrop, he watched a few sailors going about their everyday tasks. One of them pulled at ropes while another scrubbed at a spot on the deck, both men singing a shanty to themselves in French.

Hans looked at the back of his cell and sighed. The small bench, serving as his bunk, made him think of his soft, luxurious bed back in the Southern Isles. The bench's hard maple surface didn't help make his sleep any more comforting, and neither did the constant smell from the nearby bucket that substituted for a toilet.

There were no books, cards, or anything else in the cell which the prince could use to entertain himself. He felt like he would go mad soon. Out of pure boredom, Hans removed his boot and turned it into a pathetic imitation of a ball, tossing it against the inner wall and catching it when it bounced back. He did this over and over for what must have been hundreds of times, changing the pattern and rhythm of his throws, trying anything to relieve the tedium.

Eventually, a voice behind him broke the monotony.

"We need to talk, Hans."

The prince stopped and turned back to see the French ambassador seated on a chair directly in front of him, separated only by the bars of the tiny prison.

"What for?" Hans asked.

"I have thought long and hard to myself, and after carefully weighing the options, I think I would like to hear _your_ side of the story."

"What does it matter, Pierre?"

The ambassador, Pierre, looked down at his hands, covered in immaculate white gloves. "That depends on what you have to say. If it's what I suspect it is...well, I'll have to let you go free."

A wave of hope formed in Hans' gut and worked its way into his chest, staying there and comforting him like a warm bath. Up until this point the ambassador had not even spoken to him, and here he was now, offering him a chance at escape.

Without hesitation, Hans formed a story in his head.

"The queen was mad, berserk. She was threatening to bury the whole kingdom in snow!"

Pierre raised an eyebrow. "That's not how it looked to me from atop the balcony. You swung that sword at her while she had her back turned to you."

"Of course, it was a clever distraction on my part. There was no way I could have taken her in a fair fight, so I knew I would have to rely on the element of surprise."

"And in what way did you distract her?"

Hans smiled. "Quite simple, really. I told her that her sister was dead."

Pierre stared at him. "That sounds a bit too morbid and cruel for a simple distraction."

"Of course it would seem that way after the fact, but I was in a tight spot. I had to think on my feet. And it worked, didn't it? You saw it yourself."

"Except you lied through your teeth, to her, to myself and those fellow dignitaries. You told all of us you exchanged wedding vows with the princess just before she died, and yet she turned up alive and well no more than ten minutes later."

Caught off guard, Hans had to pause and consider his reply.

"Well...of course. I thought she did die, it certainly seemed like it. As I held her _helpless, delicate_ body in my arms, she closed her eyes and her fingers started to frost over. What else would one think in that situation?"

"You do have a point," said Pierre. "But then, that still doesn't explain why the princess knocked you into the water once the queen ended the winter. Nor does it explain why the queen ended the winter at all if she was, as you say, 'mad, berserk'."

Hans fumbled with his words. "Er...um, well you see-"

" _And_ I also have it on the good word of a talking snowman and an Arendellan ice harvester that you were, in fact, plotting to take the throne for yourself. The princess herself confirmed this."

The prince's voice was caught in his throat. Hans had hit the proverbial dead end. "Look, you have to believe me! These are trumped-up charges! The queen, the princess _and_ that dirty peasant are all in on it! I'm innocent, I was only doing what I thought was in Arendelle's best interest! Surely you can see that?"

Pierre gazed at him, not uttering a word. The only sounds were of the sailors continuing about their work and humming their songs.

The Frenchman got up from his chair, folded it up and set it against a wall. To the prince's astonishment, he produced a ring of keys from his pocket and set one of them into the lock.

"You're free to go."

Hans wanted to leap into the air and click his heels together; somehow, his plan had worked. But instead of jumping for joy, he composed himself and simply shook Pierre's hand.

"Thank you, my good man. You won't regret this. When we return to the Southern Isles, I'll be sure my father handsomely rewards you."

"Oh, but we won't be returning there."

"...wait, what?"

"You heard correctly. I believe my course of action is preferable over yours. Alphonse, Renard?"

Two of the tallest, meanest-looking sailors crossed the deck to stand beside the ambassador.

"Yes, m'Lord?"

"Please look after our royal guest for me, _merci_."

Hans grew nervous as the two large men started towards him. "Wait...w-what are you doing?"

"You know, Hans, in France we have certain words for people like you. You are a _tricheur,_ you are _desloyal et félon_."

The two sailors grabbed Hans and started to haul him out to middle of the deck as Pierre continued.

"But if you ask me, I would say you are simply _merde_. Do you know what that means?"

Hans was shoved to the ground. "N-no..."

"It means uh, how you say...'shit'."

Alphonse, the bigger sailor, pinned the prince to the ground and brandished a knife. Hans winced with pain as the seaman made two deep cuts on his face, only yelling when he tore his shirt open and started cutting his chest.

"I think he is bleeding enough, Alphonse. Renard, please douse him."

"Right away, m'Lord."

Renard picked up a bucket filled with chum, waited for Alphonse to get out of the way, then emptied it all over Hans.

" _Agghggh...pfftthwppttt!_ "

Piles of fish guts fell onto the prince, coating him with blood, small organs and bits of flesh.

"Now, kindly get him out of our sight."

As the rest of the sailors looked on, Alphonse and Renard seized Hans and dragged him to the edge of the boat.

"N-no wait, you can't do this! I'm a prince! _You lied to me!_ "

Pierre strode up beside him and casually looked out at the open water.

"But that is where you're wrong. Unlike you, I am a man of my word. I said you were free to go, and you are. Off of this ship and into the wide, open sea."

" _No, no!_ "

But Hans' protests fell on deaf ears.

" _Au revoir."_

As he was tossed overboard, he heard all of the sailors start cheering.

Hans crashed into the water headfirst. Dazed and confused, he tried to swim for the surface. It took him a few seconds before he could orient himself and determine the right direction.

The prince gasped for air as he emerged; the schooner was already a good distance away from him, and it was sailing faster than he could ever swim. Even if he was able to catch up with it, what good would it do? They would never allow him back on board.

Treading water, Hans circled around, and what he saw only worried him.

There was no land within sight, just expanses of dark water in every direction, stretching all the way out to the horizon.

Hans didn't know what to do. He was stranded with nothing but saltwater around him. He blinked back tears, picked a direction at random, and began to swim.

Hans did not realize what was going on when the blood from his wounds seeped into the water, he did not realize it when the fish innards spread their scent throughout the surrounding ocean, he did not even realize it when he had lost enough blood to grow dizzy.

Hans only truly comprehended what Pierre had done to him when something big swam up from beneath him, clamped its jaws around his leg and tore it away from him.

He thrashed about in white-hot pain, but his struggling only excited the thing that was feeding on him. From behind, it bit hard into his back and pulled him underwater.

Hans was dragged down, down, down into the murky depths. He opened his eyes, but all he could perceive was the blackness of the water he was submerged in, the sounds of his own screams, and the last sight of his life: rows upon rows of sharp teeth that closed around his head.


End file.
